October 16, 2012

My dearest,

I found a box the other day, something I’ve saved from my former life in Germany, more than ten years ago. Photographs of me (a decade younger), bad hair, silly grin, different cities, different countries. Backpacking and carefree. Stupid risks, madcap adventures. Dangerous and fabulous. Folded maps from Prague and London; bookmarks from Milan and Amsterdam. Places I’ve been, a life I’ve led.

But also:

A notebook. Scribbles. Places to go next. New adventures I’ve yet to have. More travelling, more experiences. Not yet. Not yet. These are dreams.

Maybe I won’t ever carry a backpack again and rough it on strange roads with unpronounceable names. (Maybe I’ve grown too fat and comfortable for that, too old.) But I will still travel, given time. This time with you. A different adventure, a different experience.

Probably even better, I bet.

Yours, ever and always.